The Way You Look Tonight
by King Avery
Summary: "If you imagine your OTP dancing to Way you Look Tonight at three am you're ruined." Well I am ruined now, this needed to be written. I'm sure there's more out there but I wanted to take a crack at it. Same world as Pause,, but can be read alone.


_**A/N: here is another companion to Pause happening sometime afterwards. As always I don't own anything. The inspiration comes from an internet post about imagining your otp dancing in their pajamas to 'The Way You Look Tonight' at three am.**_

Now most people don't think of Sherlock as capable of relationships much less capable of romance. For the most part they're right; he really isn't normally. Cold logic reigns supreme in that brilliant mind of his, but every so often he lets the walls down for someone to see him. For the longest time the walls didn't seem to apply so it was quite surprising at first when John began to run into them.

They are all still very much there. Sherlock hates vulnerability; especially around the people he cares about. In his mind they can't ever see him as weak. It's beyond messed up but John understands. It just makes the times he gets to glimpse that huge heart all the more special. Tonight is one of those wonderful nights.

John maneuvers down the hall, winding between stacks of boxes to the kitchen, the exhaustion is written plain as day on his face. At least the bedroom is unpacked, he thinks. Moving was far more of a hassle than they'd originally thought but it was necessary. 221B was too popular, too symbolic. They needed to get away, lie low for a bit. And who would think to look for Sherlock Holmes and John Watson in a quit cottage? They definitely didn't so hopefully that and Mycroft could keep them hidden a while. Becoming celebrities was far more than they'd bargained for when they started working together. A few months away from all the prying eyes would do them good.

"Have you finished the kitchen yet?" John inquires sleepily as he draws closer. Quiet crooner music flits out of the kitchen to his ears and they perk him up a bit. Calm music meant Sherlock was still in a good mood.

"Nearly," comes the response a moment later. "Warming food. You'll be hungry."

"Thanks." He finishes, rounding the corner. Sherlock's hair was a giant mess of curls over his forehead. His t-shirt clings to his shoulders and is stained with lord knows what. He's propped up on an elbow at the counter, turning a spoon lazily in his hand and gazing into a steaming cup of tea. Perfection is the first word to come to mind.

"There was a record player in the storage room. Some nice songs, I was dancing." Sherlock says quietly.

"Up for another then? Thanks to you, I'm not too bad at it." John knows an invitation when he sees one, best not pass it up. He holds out a hand, smiling. It feels only natural to take his hand when "The Way You Look Tonight' rolls out of the machine. "How accurate," John jokes as he pulls Sherlock closer.

"Beauty is a construct based on-"

"Yea, I know. Doesn't change how you look tonight."

"Don't try to be clever John, it comes out as cheesy." Sherlock chuckles softly and his hands slowly trail down until they rest on John's waist, mirroring the others' pose.

They go from turning in circles around the room to swaying slowly together in time to the music. Their chests ride and fall together and Sherlock's head drops gently to John's shoulder. John's soon follows suit and they both feel totally content. They have their own little bubble of each other and Sinatra.

The spell breaks with the last few strains of music die out and the oven beeps. John looks up just enough to read the clock. "Is it really past three?" He asks, mumbling into Sherlock's neck

"Mmm." Is his answer. Its obvious Sherlock is barely on his feet now so john turns him slightly and lowers the taller man into a chair.

"Here, let's eat and then bed, yeah?"

'N-t hn-gy." A yawn escapes Sherlock before he can squash it and he scowls at the automatic function.

"Stop that. You need to eat after carrying boxes and unpacking all day." Just as he is trying to take whatever Sherlock had thrown into the oven long fingers snake around his wrist as if on reflex. "You okay Sherlock?"

"Fine. I'm fine John." The grip on his wrist is soon released, Sherlock delving into deep thought is seems.

The oven is switched off and the leftover pizza taken out to cool. "What is it really, Sherlock? I can't deduce you completely but there's something on your mind."

"That implies you can deduce me at all."

"I know something is wrong and that you're deflecting."

"Point taken."

"What is it?" John allows his voice to soften up to the tone he uses at the clinic on skittish kids. It's hit and miss how Sherlock will respond to the coddling. His shoulders drop from their tensed position when a slice is slid in front of him. Good, he'd calmed down.

"It would only sound needy and annoying."

"You do that on a normal basis, saying it explicitly doesn't change it."

"In theory. Now, as I was saying: I quite enjoy dancing with you. I'd like to do so more often."

"Sure thing, now eat." John says around his own slice, matching Sherlock's surprised look with his own tired one.

"Just like that?"

"Yes of course just like that."

"John Watson you never cease to surprise me."

"The feeling is mutual. Eat." This time Sherlock gives in and does as he's told.

John waits for him to finish the whole slice, prodding when necessary. Moving was such a hassle, and he knew the silence would be daunting for Sherlock. He'd already complained he couldn't hear anything normal. If they kept busy with small cases and experiments everything should be fine. He goes to wash the plates up, but that was obviously unacceptable.

Sherlock grabs his wrists with one hand, using the other to shut off the water. He is so ready for bed he's turned into a possessive toddler. This thought cemented at the haughty tone when he speaks. "You said food and bed. Clean it later."

"We just moved in, we don't need clutter already."

"Bed now or couch," He threatens, squeezing John's wrists.

"Why do I put up with you?"

Sherlock is already retreating to the bedroom as he responds; John right behind him. "Because I'm clever."

"Git."

"Save the flirting for when I'm fully awake."

They don't bother changing completely; it's far too late for that. John strips his jeans and Sherlock removes his sweaty shirt. They climb into the soft, cotton draped bed gratefully and fall into deep sleep. When the alarm clock goes off at six Sherlock briefly wonders where John's Browning is before he shuts it off and sinks back into oblivion.


End file.
